CRIS ZIM! THE DISASTER CONTINUES DEXTER IS DISPLEASED
by tusitalabruni
Summary: Unlovable schlub Cris Zim continues trying to find a new job only to find himself in Miami working with a particular blood spatter expert . . . It's really best for him that Doakes isn't involved.


CRIS ZIM!

THE DISASTER CONTINUES

DEXTER IS DISPLEASED

The body was nothing like Zim expected. The humid heat in Miami had caused it to rot prematurely, and there were already maggots crawling all over it, eating up putrid flesh. It was a woman, and she was naked, but not even Zim could get turned on by what remained of her green tits. The smell alone was enough to keep him away.

"Come on, Zim," Dexter Morgan said. "We need you to get closer."

Zim scowled. The blood splatter was so dry it had already begun flaking away. Why bother to do any of this? Then he looked over at Deborah Morgan and remembered why he'd gone for this job. She cursed and drank, and he figured that he could get in her pants if she was like that. She looked like that Emily Rose chick from that Exorcist rip off, and he remembered wanting to fuck Emily Rose.

"What do you think, Dexter?" It was Angel. Not the vampire from Tailgators. This guy pronounced it An-hell.

"I'm fairly certain that this is the work of the Girlfriend Garroter," Dexter said.

"How can you tell?" Angel asked. He didn't look very happy to be so close to the body.

"The rot doesn't help," Dexter said, "but the splatter is consistent with a garroting. And it did happen here, like the other victims."

"What the hell is a garroting?" Zim asked.

"It's a strangulation," Dexter said. "Except you use razor wire. Maybe piano wire. It cuts into the throat all the way to the spine, ensuring that the victim can't breathe and will bleed out entirely. It's nasty but effective."

"Jesus," Zim said. He covered his mouth and nose with one hand, squinting up to the sun. "How long was it out here?"

"I'd guess sixteen hours," Dexter said. He worked with his kit, trying to get a blood sample. "Zim, get some pictures of this, will you?"

Zim snapped a few pics, but when he looked at them digitally, he saw they were all askew, and most of them had his thumb in it. Ah, fuck it. It'll do. He kept taking pictures. The rest of the crime scene people worked around him, but he was mostly watching Deborah. Her jeans clung to her ass tightly, and speaking of tightly, the front of Zim's pants suddenly became uncomfortably tight. He thought about maybe walking by her, "accidentally" brushing his dick against her. Maybe she'll like it. Maybe she'll give him a handjob through his jeans. That would be awesome.

"Zim!" Dexter used his outside voice. "Can you hear me?!"

"Oh," Zim said. "Sorry. What's up?"

"Get close up shots here and here." Dexter pointed to what was possibly a gash in the victim's throat and to the blood splatter that went down her chest.

"Is that a fingerprint?" Angel asked.

Dexter looked over to where Angel pointed. For a moment, it looked like maybe he was narrating inside his own head. "Huh. It's not only a complete fingerprint, it's two of them. I think we're finally going to get our man."

Zim moved closer for those two shots, and the wind blew the stench directly up his nostrils. He gagged, and the camera slipped from his hands and onto the gas-extended stomach of the corpse. It popped, sending a torrent of dead body gas into Zim's face. He couldn't stop himself. He puked all over the corpse for maybe two minutes. He kept going and going and going until he was down to dry heaves. Exhausted, he toppled forward onto the corpse.

"Zim! Get off the body!"

Dexter and Angel yanked him out of the mess, and he was covered with shredded skin and rotting body grease.

"Dammit, Zim!" Deborah yelled. "You wiped out the fingerprints, you fucking prick!"

Dexter stared at him, and yet again Zim got the feeling that he was narrating something in his own head. It was kind of creepy, actually, like maybe he wanted to strap him down in a room of plastic sheets and torture him to death.

"I should kick your ass," Deborah said. "You cocksucking piece of shit."

Zim liked the way she said "cock."

Angel shook his head. "Zim, I can't have this shit going on. We have a zero-tolerance policy on destroying crime scenes. Do you realize that because of you, we may never get justice for this victim? The victim's family?"

"I, uh, yeah," Zim said.

"You're fired." Angel ripped off the crime scene lanyard from around Zim's neck. "If I thought you were anything more than a dolt, I'd have you locked up. I never want to see your face again."

Zim let out a tremendous sigh as he turned and started walking away. Dexter sidled up next to him. "Leave Miami today," he said. "I don't want tonight to be the night for me. Just leave. Or it will be."

Zim shrugged. "Okay. I'm leaving. Leave me alone."

Dexter watched Zim leave. He had to be narrating something in his head. The look he gave him was deathly, kind of like a threat.

Maybe going south was a bad idea. Maybe he should try north again. Maybe New York . . .

CRIS ZIM WILL RETURN . . . NEXT FRIDAY!


End file.
